This Calder Sky (Calder Saga 3)

“They oughta keep some whiskey in here,” Buck mused, then spared a second to grin. “‘Course, these cowboys would come running in here every time they bruised their finger.”

“Aren’t you finished yet?” Chase asked through his teeth and glanced over to see Buck tie off the last stitch and step back to admire his handiwork.

“I bet I would have made a good surgeon,” he declared as he began expertly bandaging the wound.

“Not with your bedside manner,” Chase denied. “You get too much pleasure out of other people’s pain.”

The door opened as Buck applied the last strip of adhesive tape to hold the gauze pad in place. Chase glanced over his shoulder, then let his gaze slide away without meeting his father’s.

“I saw the truck outside.” Webb Calder wore a frown at the bandage running the length of Chase’s forearm. “What happened?”

“I cut myself. Buck overdid it in the bandage department.” Chase attempted to make it sound like a minor wound, but he was slow rising to his feet, unsure of their support. “I guess he’s practicing to become a doctor.”

Buck took the hint and discreetly gathered the instruments before Webb noticed them, concealing them in the folds of a towel. He carried them to the far side of the room to stash them for the time being. He heard Webb question Chase about where he’d been and strained to catch the low answer.

“I went to see Maggie.” Chase picked up his hat and examined the inner sweatband. “She was there—both she and Culley. They saw us—all of us.”

Webb breathed in deeply and let it out in a troubled sigh. “I didn’t know.”

“No.” Chase put his hat on, setting it on his forehead first, then pushing it down on the back of his head. “I’m going away for a week or two.”

His father let the statement ride for a minute or two, then asked simply, “Where?”

“I thought I’d take a packhorse and head up into the mountains, maybe check some fences.” Chase studied the pattern of the floor tile. “I guess it never would have come to anything. Maybe I knew that from the beginning.”

It took Buck a minute to realize Chase was referring to Maggie O’Rourke. He pursed his lips in a silent whistle as he guessed she had been the woman with the scissors. The other part about her seeing them, he hadn’t figured out yet. At first he had thought Chase meant the girl had seen her father hang himself, but when he’d added that she’d seen them, it hadn’t made sense. What would Webb and Chase be doing there? But he’d said “all of us.” Webb and Chase had gone somewhere yesterday morning. He’d seen them load up their horses and leave together. Nate had taken off, too—and Stumpy. Buck decided it might be interesting to find out who else had disappeared at the same time.

“If you feel it’s necessary to go away, I won’t try to stop you.” But Webb didn’t sound pleased.

“I need some time to think things through.” Chase didn’t back down.

“When will you leave?”

“Now—this afternoon, as soon as I get some things packed.” Cradling his injured arm against his waist, Chase moved past his father and out the door of the dispensary.

By four o’clock that afternoon, he was riding out of the ranch yard on a liver-colored chestnut, a bedroll tied behind his saddle and supplies loaded on the spotted packhorse he was leading. He headed toward the small range of mountains that intruded on the western edge of the Triple C.

The next day was Thursd

ay, the day that Doc Barlow regularly had his clinic opened. When Maggie walked out of his examining room, nobody thought it was odd that she looked so white and strained or that she didn’t speak to anyone. The poor child was burying her father the next day. Wasn’t it terrible that Angus had committed suicide, leaving two youngsters orphaned? Their tongues wagged in pity.

Culley was waiting for her at Tucker’s café. Tucker was the only one who actually knew the truth about the way their father had died. Culley had informed him the day it had happened. Tucker had turned white as a sheet and questioned them to find out if Calder knew he had been involved. Culley had angrily denied the insinuation that his father had given Calder any names. But Tucker had seemed equally worried about what Calder might do to them and agreed that no one would believe their story.

When Maggie slipped into the booth where Culley was sitting, he asked, “Did the doc give you some pills to help you sleep?”

That had been her excuse for seeing the doctor. She wasn’t ready yet to tell her brother that she was pregnant, so she let him believe the other reason for a while longer. “Yes.”

Tucker brought her a piece of apple pie and a glass of milk without bothering to ask if she wanted anything. “How are you feeling?” He had assumed the role of a distant relative, a kind of Dutch uncle to the pair.

“Fine.” She nodded and glanced uncertainly at the pie.

“It’s on the house,” he assured her, then moved away as another customer entered.

“Tucker and I have been talking,” Culley began, leaning forward in a somewhat earnest manner. “And I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about what we’re going to do now that Pa is gone. I found Aunt Cathleen’s phone number in an old address book of Mom’s. I called her a little while ago to tell her about Pa … and to ask her if you could come live with her.”

“What?” Maggie wasn’t certain that she had understood him correctly.

“You’re going away from here and live in California with Aunt Cathleen. After the funeral tomorrow, I’ll put you on a bus.” He stopped looking at her to fiddle with a paper napkin. “You’ve always wanted to get away from here and make something of yourself. You’re going to have your chance now.”